


Exit Music

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alien Abduction, Angst, Captivity, F/M, Het, Love, Sex, Song Lyrics, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somebody's gone, somebody's missing them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit Music

“I love you. Forever.”

“Wait for me! No! Don’t leave me!” she screams.

Scully wakes up. Her face is drenched in either sweat or tears, probably both.

It is the ninth morning and the tenth day since.

Since.

Since.

The phone rings.

“Scully,” she says, in a voice that is a ghost. In a woman that is a ghost. But not for much longer.

“Dana, it’s Mom.”

“Hi, Mom,” Scully says, trying to sound alive.

“How are you doing today, Dana?”

“Fine, Mom,” she lies, but not really. Today is the day. She intends to escape.

“Don’t lie to me, Dana. Have you eaten? Have you slept? Since…?”

“Since, everything seems to revolve about since, doesn’t it, Mom? It’s all right. It’s perfectly and totally fine.”

“Are you sure? Dana–”

Scully hangs up and disconnects the phone. In the mirror, there is an image, and despite the fact it revolts her, she stares at it, hard.

“You’re gonna have to find your way, Dana,” she tells the woman who stares at her quietly from the glass. She’s not wearing anything except a white shirt. His white shirt. God, are those bloodshot blue orbs hers? Is that sickly face really Dana Scully?

“Not like this,” she growls at the mirror. “I can do better.”

She turns her back on the mirror. She won’t lose her nerve. Breathe, keep breathing, Dana.

Into the shower, water so hot rose-like blotches bloom on her fair skin. Best friend, partner, one and only. Last straw. Scrubbing her hair fiercely, fingernails piercing.

_Lost a lot, lost a lot and lot and lot- lost my father, lost my sister, lost my baby girl, lost three months, lost my ambition. All of them gone, and somewhere with him, lost my soul. Gone_

At a time like this, all that’s left to her are songs, songs that rattle through her mind like wind through dry grass.

She allows herself the luxury of memory, of before Since.

Oh, God. Before. Before with that Radiohead song playing, the sad one, the one that would not stop playing in her head now. But before, oh, Mulder.

His hands like steel and fire and ice and silk, tracing intricate patterns across her face, down her throat, and she throbbed, with need, with desire.

“Mine–”

And her back had arched and her hips had pressed against him.

“Love–”

Her hands had torn into him. Against his chest, his back, his ass, oh, God, his mouth was on hers, before, claiming her, as she claimed right back. Mine. Love. A duel that both sides could win, before.

His cock had pressed hard against her then, and she had moaned. Too many clothes, too many buttons, and a damned back-hook bra! His fingers tugged and pulled at those dainty hooks, while she had tried to help.

“Mine–”

And she had torn his shirt off, causing him to chuckle a little, followed by a groan as she exhibited the same intensity to getting rid of his pants.

“Real–”

She’d laughed, if only a little, at that. In her apartment, on her bed, without clothes, her hand stroking his chest, his hand fondling her breast, and now he wondered if it were real?

“Real–”

With that he had pulled her mouth to his, and kissed her, a reverent, life-affirming kiss, as his other hand ran down her side, tickling her breast, the curve of her waist, drifting to her hip, just a little further, caressing the swollen bundle of nerves at her center, dipping just a little lower.

“Please–”

His eyes had sparkled, looking into hers. They were playing a game, in a way. A dangerous game, but she didn’t care at all. Her breathing was loud, aroused, and after a few lazy moments of playing, he had finally thrust into her.

Real.

Into her again and again, skin on skin, hardness into softness, mouth to mouth, in the oldest game, the oldest pleasures– old ways are best ways, and he was driving her crazy with his mouth hands skin body sex and she would go insane–

“Yes–”

Falling into the abyss. Clutching at him, clutching at her, both of them falling into each other– together.

With a gasp, Scully comes back to the real world. The world she’ll take no more of. Today, she escapes.

She has to get ready. There are quite a few preparations to be made, and never let it be say that Dana Katherine Scully was caught unprepared or made someone else do all the dirty work, least of all her dear and wonderful partner.

The dress, the dress is hanging in her closet, and it’s white and beautiful and pristine. She wishes she could burn the thing. It’s a tribute to a different woman. Not the one standing before her full-length mirror completely nude.

She has the courage to do this. She really does. Fiercely, she tugs the dress off the hanger, admires it. White, satin, Chinese. It is beautiful. Just like she is.

She dresses herself, slowly, methodically, her hair combed but not yet styled, and it is still so red, like blood, like flame, like coral and crimson and flame, a shock against the white of the dress and the cream of her face. Each button perfectly buttoned, the sheer nylons smoothing out any rough spots on her legs, white pumps giving her just a little more height, a little more dignity.

Out of the closet comes her suitcase, a small thing. Packed with a few practical items. She doesn’t need very much. She never has.

Her hair must be done. She hurries to the bathroom, to style it in soft waves, different than her usual smooth bob. It is surprisingly attractive, the entire effect. She puts two pearl earrings on, first the left ear, then the right ear. Her cross is hidden, pressed against the hollow of her throat.

The secrets and lies and evil and truth boil through her blood, as much a poison as the cancer that had nearly killed her. But Dana Scully has always been stronger than most people.

“I can’t do this alone,” she whispers, looking at her face in the mirror.

Quickly, she tidies up her bathroom. Her house is pristine. She surveys each room, making sure. Yes, it’s all in order. Now all she has to do is wait, and not lose her nerve.

She sits. On the table is one glass of some liquid. Next to it is her gun, and on the other side of the glass is a rose with a note attached. For a while she waits, regarding the tableau with the same practical manner that she always has.

After a while, she lifts the glass, raises it in toast to something no one would understand except herself.

“Hope you choke,” she murmurs. She brings the glass to her lips.

The door opens. It’s the moment of truth. Decision point.

And Dana Scully knows what she’s going to do.

The door opens, the glass breaks– Scully snatches her gun, takes aim, and

Fires.

But the shot doesn’t hit the target.

“You can’t do this,” the figure in the doorway says. Scully screams and screams and screams. She pulls the trigger over and over again, but not one bullet pierces her skull. “We won’t let you.”

The door closes.

Dana Scully weeps. She runs to the door of her apartment, and pulls and pulls, but the door won’t open. Because it’s not really her apartment and that’s not really a door.

Nothing here is what it seems.

“Let me out! Let me out! I’m a human being, I have rights you can’t keep me here you sons of bitches, let me out!” she screams against the door.

Does Mulder think she’s dead? Dana prays to God, any god, that he knows she’s out here. Somewhere. Waiting.

It is the ninth morning and the tenth day since.

Since…

Agent Fox Mulder looks into the grey Washington sky, remembering.

“I love you. Forever,” he whispers, clenching his fist. “Come back to me, Dana. I can’t do this alone.”

It is the ninth morning and the tenth day since.


End file.
